


Watch by the Tiller

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boats and Ships, D/s, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild S&M, Rimming, Sailing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1648, English Channel. Athos has rarely been able to disregard the concern of someone, especially someone for whom he feels affection. When Aramis is uncomfortable at sea, it is time for the Count de La Fère to take matters into his own hands as an experienced deckhand should do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch by the Tiller

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElDiablito_SF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The characters are shown participating in a consensual play for their own personal satisfaction. All characters are 18 years old or older. And Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.

_— Diable! reprit Aramis, j’aime peu la mer le jour, mais encore moins la nuit;  
 le bruit des flots, le bruit des vents, le mouvement affreux du bâtiment,  
 j’avoue que je préférerais le couvent de Noisy._  
_(Vingt ans après, chapître 43)_

 

Aramis and Athos were in Boulogne when they saw him for the first time. To the Count de la Fere, Mourdant could be considered an enemy in the future; at the moment, he was just a nuisance and fire on him was as excessive as it could be fire on a bug just because it walked on your boot. René d’Herblay was fond of the idea of eliminating the hassles before they become problems, but this time he had no opportunity to do so for Athos had snatched it from his hands. Athos had his reasons for not rushing the issue, but he couldn’t explain them yet, he had other affairs at hand.

Aramis loved not the sea, that was clear; and for him, who had spent some time in the waters, that was a mystery and yet the uneasiness of his comrade-in-arms made him restless. That was a part of him that he cannot control, if someone is anxious around him, he had to take the steps to ease them from that burden. Athos approached to René d’Herblay, who was on deck concerned over Blaisois whose inexperience on the high seas had not prepared him for seasickness. The poor slob was bent over the rail of the hull, wishing he had not eaten on Boulogne. Athos doubted that his friend’s concern for the simple Blaisois was due to the kindness of his heart, especially since watch out for the boy made him even more irritable.

“Do you need some help?” he asked signaling the boy.

“It might come handy”

Athos broke away from them and approached the door of the stairs, his hands grabbed the doorjambs and his body bent over the hub.

“Grimaud!” The Count bellowed “Come here and tuck your baby up!”

Having done so, Athos approached to the rail of the hull and leaned in, waiting for his orders to be fulfilled. His posture spoke of relaxation and lack of concern by world affairs, as if his teenage son was not in the army and he was not wanted for preparing and assisting the escape of M. de Beaufort. As if they were not looking for a certain death by joining an army that could only be defeated. There is nothing to gain by increasing the distress of the people around him.

“Do you know?” he asked in Spanish because Blaisois cannot understand that language. “I have an idea to help you forget the sea.”

“Which kind of idea?”

“A naughty one”

The silent servant came up with the encompassed step that someone used to be onboard. Grimaud passed over them and his arms surrounded Blaisois before forcing him to leave the pin rail with a quasi-paternal concern. His master gave him a silent signal to leave and he accomplished the command gladly because he worried about the boy. Aramis’ eyes wandered around the deck, watching the maneuvers of the sailors as if to make sure that things were done well, though his nervous movements betrayed that he had no idea what they were doing. Athos knew they were preparing the boat for the night journey through the English Channel, one of the more frequently made trips from Boulogne. Finally, few minutes later, the idea mentioned seemed to seep into the head of the Jesuit.

“I don’t think this is the place for naughty ideas,” Aramis muttered finally after a long meditation.

“It will be at the change of watch”

“Let’s see that idea”

“This idea involves Grimaud, I warn you”

“What has to do Grimaud with the naughtiness in your mind?”

“A lot, because I could only offer you the best at my disposal”

“Do you dare ...?”

Athos sighed, that was just the reason why he had never discussed what happened behind closed doors at Rue Férou. Sometimes he wonder if there would be any difference in hellfire depending on whom you decide to sin with; as he was not a theologian, he had never found a satisfactory answer to that question.

“Grimaud is only a man, Aramis, our agreement had been mutually satisfactory for years,” proof of this was that none of his friends had heard of it so far. “And, I fear, me alone would not being enough to distract your mind from the vast body of water around us.”

“I’m not scared of sea”

“I did not say you were, but I felt that you would appreciate a moment of distraction. If his presence bothers you, I will see that I can do without him but, I guarantee you, it would be much more fun with his assistance.”

Aramis knew the naughty ideas of Athos were planned to the last detail, only in situations such as the Bastion Saint-Gervais he dared to take a calculated risk. Removing the presence of his servant could cause him to decrease some of the momentum that had encouraged him to present his idea and the old Musketeer missed the times when Athos condescend to go with his impulses. It had been years...

“I can tolerate his presence, if I can order him to stop when I want”

“And I thank you on his behalf”

At that time one of the sailors rang the ship’s bell. Six bells sound, the deckhands began to descend the stairs, before the last of them disappeared from view, the quiet Grimaud showed up next to his master, with a jerkin to protect him of the sea breeze. The Count threw it over the body with a resigned sigh.

“The man pampers you too much”

“He’s sparing himself some work,” Athos clarified as the servant checked that the garment fit well on the shoulders. “If I am ill, he is the one who will have to take care of me until I’m in good health”

“It seems they have left us alone,” said Aramis, realizing that the only sound was the sea against the hull.

“It’s dinnertime, I guess they all come back in half an hour,” Athos pointed out, shrugging.

“I do not know that is what is more astonishing: that the pilot has left his post or that you are so well informed about sailor’s life”

“I served in the navy under the command of the duc de Damville,” the Count informed him with a smile. “And if you want to know how the pilot can be absent from his post, follow me.”

The best bait to catch Aramis’ attention had always been a curiosity regarding his safety. Athos knew that, so he went to the poop deck with an easygoing air, followed as always by Grimaud. René d’Herblay couldn’t resist the temptation and followed a few steps behind, wanting to find out the secret that kept the boat’s course. Once on the poop castle, Athos lifted the cover protecting the mechanism. He explained that the helm was governed by the tiller wheel, which sent the drive to a chain at the pintle-and-gudgeon rudder managing the boat. The chain was blocked with pieces of metal, like daggers, which maintained the position of the whole machinery.

Aramis observed it with evident interest, recognizing the logic behind the device.

“And is the trick safe?” Aramis asked, touching piece of metal to see if it gave in to pressure.

“It works for short trips and only experienced pilots take the risk,” said him with an air of disregard. “But that solidly locks the tiller, come on, take the spokes and see if you can turn the rudder...”

Without mistrust, Aramis placed his hands on the protruding spokes, leaving a free spoke as he had seen the pilots do. At first he felt that he should not use too much force, in case Athos was wrong and the tiller actually changed the course of the vessel, but he has not made the slightest movement. Stung in his pride, the former musketeer applied a little more weight in the mechanism, but no results. Ara,os was about to give the reason to his friend when he felt a tug on his right sleeve, which forced him to turn his head, startled. Athos, nonchalant as usual, was busy tightening the knot of a red string on his wrist, then _l’abbé_ noticed that his friend’s servant was doing the same with the left hand.

“Is this another sailor custom you failed to inform me?” demanded the _chevalier_ d’Herblay, trying to understand this strange behavior.

“In fact, it is,” replied the Count looking at him with an amused eye. “It is called ‘debauchery’. Please do not struggle against the bonds; you could ruin the investment you’ve made in those hands”

“Very funny, _M. le comte_ ,” reprove the Jesuit, trying to free the hands of that bonds and that brought a sharp pain, so he rested them in the wheel before he hurt himself for real. “Stop the joke now!”

“Just trust me, I won’t hurt you...” he was promising when he realized that the eyes of Aramis were not seeing him. “Oh, I forgot”

He turned his attention to the valet, who, having served his last command was waiting for the next order two steps beyond the rudder.

“Grimaud, _Monsieur d’Herblay_ allows you to touch him,” he explained to his ever faithful companion, caressing the former musketeer’s shoulder whiles he untied the doublet’s laces. “ _Monsieur d’Herblay_ is your master as I am, his satisfaction is your responsibility and his commands must be obeyed with all the devotion which you obey mine until I say otherwise. Understood?”

A brief nod was all the answer of the Breton, and Athos was proud of his obedience, and satisfied because it was difficult to catch Grimaud unaware after all those years at his beck and call.

“Is that better, Aramis?”

“Much better,” admitted him, feeling more comfortable with the situation.

“Good. Now, pay no attention to Grimaud,” whispered Athos, raising Aramis’ head to kiss his neck, “think of him as an extension of me and allow _me_ to ease your brow...”

The long wet lick on the hollow of his neck worked like a charm for Aramis. Suddenly, the only real thing in the world was those fingers that slid under the silky shirt and began to tease a tiny rigid nub in his chest; the ghost hand that began to disentangle his breeches was barely noticed since the Jesuit wanted a free hand to caress the mane that tickled his chin, or to knock such head, he was not sure. Damned Athos, everything has to be done his way...

Grimaud, kneeling between the tiller and the man attached to it, was busy easing the laces of Aramis breeches with the attitude of a person very knowledgeable in such duties. His master give some silent orders as he spoke and quietly he devoted himself to complete those as enthusiastically as he used to obey.

“Egad! You’re still savory,” moaned the Count before running his tongue for the line of the jaw in his way to the earlobe, carefully avoiding the bristles of the beard which had grown during the trip.

“If you have nothing better to do with your mouth, use it to kiss me,” sneered _l’abbé_ moving his head, searching those full lips.

Athos chuckled in his ear, his hands roaming his chest: “All things come to those who wait”

Grimaud had managed to open the front of his clothes while Aramis internally cursing the fact he having put on the old two-piece breeches that were tied in front and back, as the servant’s fingers were untying the laces all the way, the servant’s breath was near the most sensitive part of his body. Athos stopped the care to the body in his arms, feeling there was a change of attitude in the object of his attentions; a quick glance allowed him to understand the cause.

“If I told you what I had been thinking since you got in those breeches on this morning...” he whispered those words into the ear before he let both hands roamed his fellow’s hips.

“Who would suspect that your mind is so full of...?”

Aramis was interrupted by the tongue of the servant who decided to cover the extent of his shaft with a moist lick, while with both hands caressed his thighs and lowered the sleeves of his lower garments. Athos’ left hand stroked the inside of the bare thigh, while his right hand grabbed a buttock with a possessive gesture. Grimaud took the opportunity to pass his tongue over the wandering hand in front of his face, making it dance between those long fingers, and his master grinned when he got the warning.

“It’s time to get serious here...” said the Count before uprising the hand to take Aramis jaw and cajoling his partner to show him those deep, dark eyes. “Please, do not talk and devote yourself to feel...”

Kissing is an art that any well-bred gentleman should cultivate, especially if he had spent his first forty years in this earth. Athos felt able to stand the test, despite the added difficulty of kissing a man without disturbing the clearly defined line of those whiskers over two full, sensuous lips. Aramis looked into his eyes, relishing the feeling of complaisance that emanated from Athos before a little exclamation left out of those lips parted when Grimaud considered that it was enough of preparations and used his own mouth on that growing arousal. Athos rolled his eyes at this untimely show of eagerness on the part of his valet and took possession of those quivering, humid lips.

While nibbling the soft, moist and plump lips of Aramis, Athos raised his hands to caress the sides, outlining his fingertips the muscles of the Jesuit, his thumbs rubbed the small, rock-hard nipples. Aramis, despite his lack of mobility caused by the bonds, tried to reach those lips with his tongue, using the full force of his will to ignore the expert mouth that was trying to distract his attention from the delicious kiss that he wanted. Grimaud’s hands caressed his thighs and had made him overlook the sea breeze grazing his bare skin.

Athos finally realized the voracious invitation and he decided to heed it. His mouth was caressed by the tongue that slid between his lips and began to compete with his own. The Count used his right hand on Aramis’ nape since he seemed so excited creating sweeping, swirling motions inside his mouth that surely the possibility of beard rash had not crossed his mind. Athos took his sweet time to caress the inside that desirable mouth, tasting the flavor of one of his oldest friends, a detail that was still so clear in his memory as the first day he felt it. His left hand was on the hip of his prey, to avoid too much sway, knowing how vigorous Grimaud could be when engaged in the task of using his mouth on the tidbit that always seemed more tempting to him. Nevertheless, it was fortunate that Aramis was not complaining about the treatment he received; On the contrary, the palpitation that covered his body betrayed the intense pleasure he was getting.

“He’s a fine bone-gobbler, is not he?” Athos commented once separated from his mouth for air, although, by the patient’s response, that question was rhetorical.

It was quite impossible to concentrate with two men dedicated to stir his lowest passions and turn his body into a mass of feverish desires, but Aramis frantically tried to think a caustic answer, while Athos dedicated himself to lick his neck again and to caress his chest, and Grimaud was sucking his engorged cock with unsuspected adroitness. Years of experience allowed Athos to imagine what Grimaud was doing, solely and exclusively by the noise he could hear over the waves against the hull of the ship, he could imagine every touch by the sound of his fingers on the skin of Aramis, each lick by the wet sound of his tongue over a rock-hard dick, each suckling by the distinctive sound from his humid lips. All that noise stroked his ears and generated some agitation under his own waist.

He who has said that recurrence breeds boredom never knew real pleasure.

Athos wandered on the side of Aramis’ neck to nibble the sinew that held that head erect, trying not to hinder the work of his valet; in spite of his willingness to work below the waist of his friend, he knew he had to leave these activities in the hands of the expert, for this whole session is his gift to Aramis, and if he could not give the best, he better gave nothing. There was a brief pause while Athos attended the signs of Grimaud, who never stopped working his tongue in semicircles around the solid shaft and keeping his hands busy carousing the twins. The Count smiled and licked the earlobe with a lazy motion, caressing the ear with his breath, he knew his work was to be a decoy, and when Aramis was took by surprise when the thumbs of Grimaud kept both mounds separate and the Breton tongue passed over the cleft; he knew he had fully served his purpose. When the tongue of the servant found the hidden bud between the two buttocks and began to lick with long circles around the edge, given full attention to the folds, the Aramis began to fear he would lose forever the ability to speak, but the self-satisfied grin on the face of Athos made him find his voice again.

“You... are a ... deviate whoreson... Athos,” gasped Aramis, trying not to get carried away by the wet tongue exploring so shamelessly the most hidden spot of his body.

“At the best of my knowledge, my mother was an honorable lady-in-waiting,” the Count whispered in his ear with a snort. “But I notice you haven’t order Grimaud to stop...”

Aramis was about to answer that, but Grimaud found a way to get his wet tongue inside his body, and the tremors caused by the exquisite stroke barred any coherent idea on his brain. Athos used his hands to hold him, knowing that Grimaud would understood that he had overstepped his bounds, it was the scoundrel’s tactic to know how far ahead he could go. Aramis’ long fingers quivered on the wheel and the blush appeared on the face that time and convent had not marred, _l’abbé_ had to admit in all honesty that his knees were beginning to yield to the insistent caressing on his puckered ring.

“Do you plan all of this?” it was all Herbaly managed to ask because they seemed to understand themselves in a supernatural way whereas working every one of his erogenous areas without the participation of the word.

 “No, I’m just that good with my hands,” said Athos, deciding to give a sample of manual dexterity on the part of his friend’s anatomy that Grimaud had just left.

Athos closed his left hand on the hot, bulging shaft, resting his thumb on the edge of the crown, where the hood had joined edges. That hand was his most skilled one for the task, as he used his right one to communicate his orders to Grimaud, so he started to go up and down, eyes locked in dark gems of Aramis, preparing himself to observe the reply he was getting by caressing the iron-hard cock, dampened by the work of his servant. Grimaud had spoiled him. For years, he relished most of the responses he produced than his own pleasure and Aramis was reacting wonderfully: quick breath on his trembling lips, his moist eyes calling for more of what they were receiving, shoulders jerking at each new provocation received... But the cues were there, and the Count recognized them. If he let Grimaud continue with his labor, he would only accomplish Aramis came to a climax without concern was out of his mind for more than a few minutes.

That would ruin the whole project.

“May I offer you something else, my dear friend?” Athos wanted to know while twisting his hand over the erect rod beginning to shed his joy while Grimaud licked the edge of his ring.

Aramis was ready to surrender to the concerted attack of Athos and Grimaud, who had laid siege to his body in a very organized and pleasurable way: his body writhed against the rudder and the hair fell on his face, his clothes in disarray, if not removed from his body, stuck to his skin, which was covered with sweat. In that moment, the old musketeer had one thing in mind, and this idea was so powerful that he could hardly express it in words.

“Your cock...”

“Then, ask for it nicely, Aramis,” requested the Count as he removed the hair from that sweaty face with his free hand.

“You’re a jerk...” he muttered, chocking on surge of pleasure provided by the servant.

“I’ve been called that before...”

“I want you... inside me,” D’Herblay managed to articulate between ragged breaths. “Please, Athos... take my ass...”

“Yes, I can see you’re aching to have my cock inside you. But, what do we do with Grimaud?”

“Could he... suck mine... while you ...?” inquired him in a whisper and struggled to not lose the vertical stand at such attack.

“An excellent choice, for a Jesuits student”

 “Please, do me now, Athos!” pleaded D’Herblay, gathering the last vestiges his stamina, feeling that his body could not endure such treatment any longer.

“Without protest...” granted the Count before taking over the mouth of his partner and stealing his breath with a kiss that betrayed its own need for release.

Athos, separated from his prey, muttered to his servant something that sounded like ‘ankles toward the horizon’. Before Aramis could decipher what he meant, Grimaud lifted his both legs off the deck and for a moment the pain in his wrists reminded him the bonds and the advice of not to struggle with them, but that pressure was over when his ankles rested on the traversal spokes of the wheel, and his thighs on the shoulders of the faithful valet, who, to be forgiven by the roughness of the maneuver, closed his lips around the aching shaft and used his hands in Aramis’ butt to grant his master a better access to the damp, needy place.

“I hope Grimaud has left you wet and eager...” a warm voice whispered in the ear of D’Herblay before the round end of a turgid manhood jabbed into him, slowly but surely, inch by inch, until they are slotted together.

Aramis arched in groaning protest when his ring was dilated enough to fit the girth of the throbbing shaft on which most of his weight rested.

“ _Satis_ ,” Aramis proclaimed as the Count started to enter to his body with a swift motion, he did not wanted the servant heard him complain. “ _Repletis me ad summum brutus_ ”

Athos had forgotten how arousing it was to hear Latin from the lips of someone while engaged in a solid fucking, his hands clenched at the waist and rested his forehead in the sweaty doublet, determined to give that firm ass the pounding of his life. He gave his friend time to adjust to the sensation, but it was not enough, the sensation of fullness inside Aramis was almost painful and the position in which he was allowed to feel each pulse of the iron-hard tumescence against the sweet spot within him, sending lustful impulses throughout his body, not to mention the tongue of the servant who suckled the head of his swollen flesh with an swift, insistent rhythm.

With eyes closed, the Count felt long fingers tenderly cradling his nuts and began to withdraw from the ardent embrace of velvet that was the channel of D’Herblay, with a satisfied grunt; he enjoyed the pressure of that narrow tunnel to the full extent of his engorged member until his head was caught in the ring. He knew that the signal had been understood: Grimaud began devouring the hard rod in his mouth with a skilled motion that imitated the speed that he felt in his hand. And by the horny, chocked sounds emanating from the throat of Aramis, the master learned that the maneuver was a huge success.

Aramis pressed down to meet his every upward thrust, his ring twitching every time the Count bucked beneath him, his fine hands had taken the spokes firmly and that made the muscles in his back tremble with the force of his clenching fists every time the lips of the servant closed against the throbbing head of his hard cock. The three men breath got quicker and more intense as the joining proceeds. Aramis’ limbs tense up and your body begins to arch, as the pressure in his loins became unbearable and his words lost all coherence in sheer delirium, his head rested on the wide shoulder of the Count and his mouth widens in carnal satisfaction. Euphorically, this tension was washed by flares of pleasure as his body writhes with each one of the spurts eagerly consumed by the servant in front of him.

Once Grimaud drank every last drop of liquid pleasure poured into his mouth, he turned to retrieve the laces of the garment and began to pass through the eyelets; he took great care to not tighten them. His master could be lost in getting his own satisfaction to realize that time was short. While maneuvering in the small space, his eyes had a privileged view of the battlefield and he smiled at the thought that filled his brain. The surprised groaning from the Count and the _chevalier_ was the immediate reaction when the servant decided to try both flavors at once with his thumbs stroking Aramis’ miracle inch.

Athos smiled as he felt the wet kiss contained the sword and sheath that reduced the friction of movement enhancing his pleasure. Aramis was emitting small, surprised sounds at this circumstance beyond the ritual, one that filled him with new and unexpected sensations; The responses that were building up in his crotch were unusual, especially when the climax was over, and against what might be suspected, a new joy was simmering in his gut, forcing him on arch backward, indulging himself in warm tingling that presaged the time of a new release, he got into high spirits more intensely than the last time. Pearly drops of satisfaction struck the steering wheel...

When Athos began to feel pressure in his groin and thighs, his hands dropped to his partner’s hips and pulled with enough force to leave a clear impression of his fingers into the delicate skin, consumed by the sweet pain that presaged his shuddering release. With a roar of triumph, he rode the wild and wonderful waves of sheer ecstasy. His gasps were joined with the rapid breathing of Aramis. For a moment there was only the primary pleasure of two bodies trembling in a lustful embrace.

The Jesuit shook as his friend slowly retreated of the interior his body, shaken by the aftershocks of the monumental peak that he had reached. With great care, the servant was helping him to lower his numb legs of the spokes, but the Breton suspected that they could not hold him long enough to walk before rushing to help his master to clean himself and arrange his clothes. While Grimaud attended his needs, the long hands of Athos were busy putting the tails of his friend’s shirt into his breeches before pulling the laces to close them. Athos took great care in placing his arms under the armpits of Aramis to support him whiles engaged in undo the knots, just in case Herblay was so dazed that he would lose his balance if the Count were not by his side provide him support.

“And now, how do you feel now about the sea?” asked Athos, to Aramis, kissing his sweaty temple.

“I swear to God, I do not know what you’re talking about...” murmured the Jesuit as he leaned his head against the neck of the Count.

“I think we fucked him silly, Grimaud,” laughed Athos, hugging his comrade as his valet cleaned the last traces of their mischief.

The servant replied to comment with a throaty chuckle as he put inside his shirt the rag he used to carry on his person to clean up whatever was necessary, as a substitute of his master’s handkerchiefs. Once everything was clean, he came to his master and knelt before him, as he used to do whenever he was thankful for the gift that had been dispensed to him. With a gesture full of majesty and solemnity, Athos put his hand on his head to tell him that his gratitude had been noticed.

“Go, take care of your boy, and sleep, if you can,” he commanded, making the sign that told his servant that he could retire.

The servant stood up, bowed and moved briskly towards the stairs leading to the deck when a whistle made him turn his head with a surprised gesture. The Count had forgotten the other pending command and he wanted to rectify it before the end of the day.

“You only have one master,” said the Count setting the arm of his friend over his shoulders, even encumbered with Aramis he was able to give a royal image. “Who’s your master, Grimaud?”

“You are my Master, _M. le comte_ ,” replied with a smile full of faithfulness and he was rewarded with a sign that said he had been released.

Athos saw him leave and he felt a smile surfacing on his lips, he could not be more satisfied with Grimaud’s performance, those years of training had been fruitful, and he had in mind the idea of rewarding his valet for his good behavior once he had the opportunity, but for the moment, he had more pressing matters at hand.

“Come on, we must find you a place to sleep, Herblay,” murmured the Count aloud carrying his friend as if he were drunk.

“You’re going to pay for making me beg, Athos,” stammered the _chevalier_ , trying to favor the motion, but he was too hobbled by the thrill.

“Certainly,” he conceded him with a smile as he heard the ship’s bell to call all hands to the next watch. “You know I always pay my debts ...”


End file.
